Bare Your Teeth, Wicked Ones

23. A Fae's Help

William

After Henry and his colleagues left, The Generals had the army marching like hounds on a fresh scent. More soldiers joined from the south, thousands appearing in the span of a week. They spread across the Deadlands, infesting the lands like a sea of cockroaches. The Generals were using what Henry had brought. They were preparing for a final battle, William knew that in his gut, but had as little enthusiasm as ever.

After another march, the troops became restless. William sat around the firepit with a dozen other soldiers. Oscar chugged a drink, eagerly listening to the chatter all assuming one thing; the final battle was upon them. Though William rolled his eyes, others erupted in laughter and cheer, expecting an end to the slaughter and cold. Nicholas had disappeared, too. They hadn't spoken in days, ever since William spoke far more than he should have, ever since Nicholas shared more than he expected too. The other night was too much, comforting and, damn it all, odd, and it shouldn't have happened. They were meant to be having sex. Nothing more. But he couldn't stop thinking about Nicholas' hand clutched in his and the soft hair tickling his neck, slow and steady breaths, the sweet scent and charming eyes that could fight back the darkest of daydreams. How they laid in bed afterwards talking about nothing. Not a damn thing and they bickered and William laughed and Nicholas kissed him and it felt good.

"Drink up!" Oscar bellowed, red-faced and bright-eyed. His shoulder bumped William's and ale sloshed over the rim of his glass to dampen his pant leg. "Oh, uh, sorry, I'm..."

"Drunk," William finished for him.

"Yeah, it's wonderful." Oscar laughed and finished the last of his drink in a quick gulp. The other soldiers cheered and William felt Charmaine tense beside him.

"Is your headache still bothering you?" he whispered to the poor girl trying her best not to wince. She nodded. "We should leave then."

"But I want to celebrate too," she argued over the rim of her mug. Her gaze swept over the crowd. A familiar sparkle shimmered within her eye; hope. William was happy to see it, although it vanished in a blink. "I pray their assumptions are right, that the end is almost here. I won't ask you what you think."

William finished the little alcohol left in his mug. "That would be for the best."

"Has he mentioned anything?"

William knew she meant Nicholas. He shrugged. "We haven't talked in a few days, but last I heard, the lab had been taken. That's all."

"You make it sound like that isn't a big deal."

"I don't mean to sound pessimistic, but I rather not get my hopes up, either."

"I know." She patted William's leg. More loud voices joined those around the firepit. A familiar face stepped forward, Theodore. The flames lit his flushed features, eyes dreary and far away. Charmaine growled over the rim of her cup.

"Tuckerton!" Theodore called, arms spread high and wide. His drink spilled over his hand and he cursed, though lapped up the beverage and burped. He stumbled towards one of his buddies to throw a strong arm around his neck. Theodore pointed towards Charmaine and said, "Do you recognize him? Albie, Albie Tuckerton, that little shrimp from recruitment!"

"Let's go," William muttered, rising, but Charmaine did not join. The fire reflected in her angry eyes fixated on Theodore and the soldiers now listening to his boisterous story.

"This one was the smallest of our lot, can you believe that?" Theodore cackled and stepped over everyone to approach. He dropped into the seat William once had and threw a heavy hand on Charmaine's shoulder. "You've grown up quite a bit. You're not still crying every night, are ya? We couldn't this one to stop his wailing, begging for mommy to come get him."